


Dead Girl Walking

by hufflepuff_true



Category: Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe, Supernatural
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Bullying, Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Language, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Ghost! Heather chandler, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Please read the notes!, Supernatural Elements, quotes from canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-06-28 13:46:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19813537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hufflepuff_true/pseuds/hufflepuff_true
Summary: Veronica never meant to befriend the Heathers, lose her virginity after a drunken party, kill a classmate, get mixed up in things like-- well. Sometimes, the dead refuse to stay that way. And between class, JD, and everything else going on, Veronica's going to have to deal with that eventually.





	1. Beautiful

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Galanerd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galanerd/gifts).



> Please, please, please let me know if you see anything that needs to be tagged. Heathers (musical & movie) and Supernatural both have plenty of violence to self and others. I and my beta reader think if mostly falls under canon-typical violence and behavior, but I want to cover everything. I'm going to update tags with every chapter. 
> 
> Also, I **liberally** quote the musical. Just FYI.

September 1, 1989

Dear Diary…

I think I’m a good person, you know? I think there is good

in everyone, but it’s the first day of senior and I have to ask

myself… What the fuck happened to all of us?

Veronica watches as the boy next to her sticks foot out and sends another guy sprawling across the floor, books and homework flying. Nothing really stops. Sure, people duck and look over at the smack of flesh to linoleum. But that doesn’t stop them from walking all of his books and homework. She attempts to help him gather up his homework. The boy (His name is Justin. They used to make mud pies together) sneers at her and snatches the papers from her hands. “Get away, nerd!” Veronica drops the pile at his feet and stalks off. Somebody kicks the papers across the floor behind her.

Walking between classes, all she can hear are the insults tossed between sneering students. Words like “slut!”, “lardass!”, and “bull-dyke!” standout against the white noise of the hallway. Teachers pass out “review sheets” that haven’t changed in years so that they don’t actually have to think about the kids in class. Rather than listen to the same drivel from the year before, Veronica daydreams about college. She’d been checking the mail religiously since sending her applications. (Even though her mother had tried to discourage her from sending that one to Harvard… but you never know, right?) Fantasies about huge libraries, interesting classes, and smoky French cafes she would one day sip coffee in kept her going until lunch.

Stepping into the cafeteria was like stepping into the Thunderdome. She can feel the sound push back against her. Sometimes, she’d really like to just burn this place down. Picking up her lunch tray, Veronica steps in line for the mystery meat of the day. Ram Sweeney and Kurt Kelly rough house in front of her. One pushes the other and her lunch tray flies from her hands as they stumble into her.

“Dick” she says under her breath. In front of her, Ram freezes and turns to stare.

“What did you say to me, skank?” He looms.

“Nothing.”

“That’s what I thought.”

She lets a few people slip into line ahead of her. Veronica jumps a foot in the air as someone taps her on the shoulder. Whipping around, she sees her friend.

“Oh…hey, Martha.” Her friend grabs a lunch tray of her own and gets in line behind her. They’re talking about jiffy pop and _The Princess Bride_ when a hand whizzes in front of her face and slams into the red plastic, ripping it from Martha’s hands.

“Marthra Dumptruck! Wide-load!” Kurt and Ram laugh and high-five, and Veronica sees red.

++++

_My childhood was only a menacing shower,_

_cut now and then by hours of brilliant heat._

_All the top soil was killed by rain and sleet,_

_my garden hardly bore—_

SLAM!

“Hey! Pick that up right now!” He looks up over the edge of the book at the resulting hush. The dull roar of the caf resumes, and he sees a girl boxed in by two lettermen jackets. “— what gives you the right?! You’re a high school has-been waiting to happen. A future gas station attendant.” She’s a ball of radiant fury, a standing flower against two crushing boots. He watches as the jackets push in closer. Muscles tense as the jackets close in.

One reaches forward and flicks the tip of her nose. “You have a zit.” They high-five one another as she fumes. He turns his eyes back to the book before him as lunch continues as normal.

++++

Veronica pushes her shoulder into the swinging bathroom door. She’s reminding herself that there’s only one more year of this bullshit before she can leave this place. She draws up short at the sight of an occupied room. Leaning against the wall by the window, a girl in yellow blows cigarette smoke out of the cracked opening—Heather McNamara, head cheerleader. Under the edge of a stall door, Veronica can see the edge of a green skirt as the gut turning sound of retching fills the room—Heather Duke, runs the year book committee and just received breast implants for her birthday (if rumors can be believed). Finally, a third girl stands in front of the mirror, touching up the red lipstick that perfectly matches her skirt—Heather Chandler, the Mythic Bitch.

Veronica has just interrupted a conversation on whether or not bulimia has gone out of style. She quickly slips into an empty stall to avoid them, but its not like they noticed her entrance anyway. The door swings open again a second later, and this time they notice.

“Ah, Heather and Heather… and Heather.” Veronica can hear the condescension in Ms. Fleming’s voice. “Perhaps you didn’t hear the bell over all that vomiting, but you’re late for class.”

“Heather wasn’t feeling well. We’re helping her.” Chandler doesn’t even try and sound convincing even though she clearly expects to be believed without question.

Veronica doesn’t really think about pulling a loose sheet of paper from her bag or why she writes the note in Coach Ripper’s handwriting. But she does. In the middle of Ms. Fleming’s triumphant declaration of a week’s detention, Veronica reaches over to flush the empty toilet and exits the stall.

“Actually, Ms. Fleming, all four of us are out on a hall pass. For the yearbook committee?” The note gets tugged from her hand, and Veronica watches as Ms. Fleming studies the note.

“… I see your all listed. Hurry up and get where you’re going.” She hands it back reluctantly and flounces out.

It’s snatched from Veronica’s hands again by fingers that look dipped in blood (or nail polish).

“This is an excellent forgery,” blue eyes come up and there isn’t even a hint of recognition. But there is a lot of contemplation. “Who are you?”

“Veronica Sawyer,” it sounds almost like a question. “And I crave a boon.”

**_Boon: noun, a favor or request_.**

(Favors have consequences. Veronica should have remembered that.)

++++

“And in other news tonight, two men accused of torturing a young woman in Illinois were found tied up in a barn outside of town. They claim to have no memory of their actions despite being identified by four separate eye witnesses. More to come as this case unfolds. Back to you, John.”

++++

She’d never felt so beautiful in her life.


	2. Candy Store/Fight for Me

There she was again. Three weeks since she’d ripped into the quarterback for slamming her friend’s tray and it was like invasion of the body snatchers or something. Everyone adjusted and it was like the bluestocking girl had always been a Heather. She nonchalantly follows Duke to the more secluded corner of the caf. Her shoes make quick little taps as her heels strike the floor and her skirt swishes above her knees. He eyes her over the top of his book. Her bright fury has been replaced by giddy awe. One more person subsumed by bitches like Heather Chandler.

“Veronica, I need a forgery in Ram Sweeney’s handwriting. You’ll need something to write on.” Blonde hair whips as Chandler glares at Duke. “Heather. Bend over.” The green back dutifully bends, and the girl leans over with a notebook and pen in hand. He glances back down at his book rather than watch the way the fabric moves over the back of her thighs. “Hey, beautiful. I’ve been watching you and thinking about us in the old days. I hope you can come to my homecoming party this weekend. I miss you. Ram. Put an XO after the signature!”

Her deft hands dutifully scratch out the letters. She adds her own little flourish—a heart scrawled in the corner. “What did you need this for anyway?”

“I just found out that Ram used to hang with Martha Dumptruck.”

“We all did! In kindergarten!”

“We all didn’t kiss on the kickball field, did we?” The other two snicker.

His attention is caught by the two lettermen jackets walking in. Their words waver between the sound of the caf. “… so righteous …Veronica Sawyer, Heather Chandler sandwich.” Assholes.

“Ram, sweetie, do me a favor and take this to Martha Dumptruck?” Chandler’s gleeful grin turns to a dead glare as Veronica snatches the note from the jock’s hand.

“I got it, Ram. Thanks anyway!” the jock nods, eying the girl up and down before slapping his friend for doing the same as they amble off.

Chandler wheels on Veronica. “Are we gonna have a problem?”

He watches as the girl shrinks in herself slightly.

“Normally, I’d slap your face off right now and let all of these losers watch. But I’m feeling nice,” The other two push into her sides and smile like sharks.

“Let me lay it out for you. You have two options: You can join the team, and she gets the note, or you can be a fucking pussy and go watch Sesame street and braid each other’s hair. You’ve come so far, Veronica. I’d hate to see you lose it all and end up like Martha Dumptruck. You could live the dream, Sawyer! Do you really wanna fuck that up for Shamu?” Chandler grabs the end of her chin, tilting her face up to get a good look into Veronica’s eyes. She smiles sweetly as she plucks the note from Veronica’s limp hand and passes it to McNamara. The note is dropped on the right lunch tray in passing.

Veronica sinks in a chair as the other three wander off to grab some food. “They’re gonna crush that girl.” It was out of his mouth before he’d even registered standing.

“I’m sorry… what?” she blinks up at him for a second.

“Look, you’ve clearly got a soul. You just need to keep it clean. ‘We are all born marked for evil.’” She still seemed shocked that he’d even said anything to her in the first place. Before he can leave, she’s up and after him, grabbing the sleeve of his coat.

“Okay, don’t just quote Baudelaire at me and then walk away.” He stares down into her face. Bluestocking knows Baudelaire? Suddenly realizing how close she is, Veronica takes two small steps back. “I didn’t catch your name.”

He carefully tugs the sleeve free from her hand. “I didn’t throw it.” A small blush crosses her cheeks at his cheek and she turns to leave. If he glances back at her as he heads for the exit or walks a little taller… well. Who is anyone to know?

++++

Veronica turns to watch him after she returns to the Heathers’ table. He manages to sprawl across two chairs, the picture of superior nonchalance, as he reads a thick book. It was a nice picture until Kurt and Ram strutted into it. She can’t hear them over the rest of the student body or the length of the cafeteria, but it sure doesn’t look very cordial. The masses move around the threesome as though nothing’s there. The jocks harass people constantly, so the buzz won’t stop just because they’re getting into Mr. No-name’s face.

She lets her eyes wander back down to the notebook in her hands, fairly assured that Kurt will get bored and leave the new kid alone. It’s not her business anyway. She’s just pulled her pen from her pocket when the “Holy shit!” rings out over the din. ( _Din: noun. A loud, unpleasant, and prolonged noise_.) Her eyes dart up in time to catch sight of the new kid’s fist connecting with Ram’s gut. No one intervenes, even as it becomes clear that the new kid has a lot more experience giving and taking hits than either Kurt or Ram. Her eyes trace his form as the coat moves away from his body. He throws himself into truly beating their asses. A wide grin crosses his face as Ram swings wide. Kurt is on the floor, clutching a rather intimate area. He looks so alive and strong and … wonderful. Like he wouldn’t have kowtowed ( _synonyms: knelt, groveled, caved_ ) to Heather. If Veronica had been anything like that, she wouldn’t have written the Heathers that hall pass.

He certainly lasts longer than she thought possible against two opponents, even if those opponents are Ram and Kurt. As his coup de grace, he slams their heads together which sends them sprawling across the floor as a couple of teachers and the football coach finally arrive on the scene. The captive audience scatters. Mr. No-name glances over the principal’s shoulder in the middle of a truly impressive lecture to catch her eye. They stare at each other until Heather obstructs her vision.

“Come on, byatch. Time to go!”


	3. Freeze Your Brain

“God, Veronica. Drool much? You practically wet your panties over that new kid.” Her nose crinkles as a sneer pulls at the corner of her mouth. Cold eyes scan Veronica’s yard. “And judging by your house, you can’t exactly afford replacement panties.” She glances over her shoulder at Heather and Heather. They titter on cue.

Veronica takes a moment to square up to her shot. She can feel the tips of her ears warm beneath her hair. “Come on, Heather. It’s not like I even know his name.” She tightens her hands around the mallet a bit. Veronica puts a little too much behind the swing and clenches her teeth at the crack. “Look out!” The ball hops a couple of time and bumps into her mother’s foot.

“Afternoon, girls! Pate?” Her mom’s eyebrows raise, and her grin widens as she presents a plate to Veronica and the other girls.

Heather glanced down at the plate before raising her eyes to Veronica’s mom. “That’s not pate. It’s liverwurst.” It was like she was talking to a four-year-old, and Veronica tightens her grip again as she imagines slamming the mallet into the side of Heather’s knee and watching her crumple.

“Oh, I know Heather. It’s a joke.” It’s like her mom didn’t even register the insult, except for her tight smile and jaw. Not that Veronica did much differently.

“Any plans tonight?”

Veronica smiled and stood straighter. “There’s a big homecoming party at Ram Sweeney’s house tonight. I’m gonna catch a ride with Heather.” She’d been looking forward to it for a week. (The party, not the ride.)

“Speaking of which…” Heather taps her red watch. Without missing a beat, Heather and Heather move from their expectant positions and leave the yard. One holds the gate for Heather as she exits. Both fall in line behind her like good little puppets. Veronica drops the mallet and begins to follow instantly.

Her mom catches her shoulder as she passes. “Don’t let them change you, honey.” Hands reach out to smooth down a wrinkle in her daughter’s blazer. She swallows at her daughter’s half-hearted shrug.

“I need them.”

“What for? You have other friends. You have Martha!” Her mother sounds so certain.

But that doesn’t mean much in the real world. “Maybe I want more than liverwurst, mom.”

++++

He pushes into the door with far more force than necessary. JD’s chest heaves with each breath. “Stupid fucking drunk…” JD clenches his jaw and breathes deeply through his nose. Maybe sprinting to the 7-Eleven hadn’t been his greatest idea, but if he’d hung around the house any longer… He sucks in another breath through his nose.

The store is deserted except for him and the zoned-out cashier. His boots squeak across linoleum on his way to the back of the store. Despite his affection for the franchise, this particular store has disappointed with its selection. Cherry, lime, or coke. And the lime wasn’t even that good. He reaches for the largest cup and fills it nearly to overflowing. Stalking back to the front of the store, he drops exact change on the counter. The cashier doesn’t even flinch.

The store is empty, so JD settles back against an open stretch of counter and takes a deep pull from the Slurpee. He feels his chest loosen as the burning cold spreads through his ribs. Seconds later, the headache hits and he can’t help how his face pulls into a grimace. The dull pain fades as he presses his tongue against the roof of his mouth. His shoulders droop and his head tilts back as he slowly releases the cool air from his lungs.

For a Friday, it’s incredibly quiet. The cashier flips through a magazine with the TV in the back droning out the evening news. “And the unusual pattern of crime continues from Illinois to Ohio this week. Another two men were found passed out in the woods outside of town after a series of violent and heinous crimes. They claim to have no memory of their actions. Furthermore, one man claims to have been abducted from his home and that his captor committed those crimes in his stead. As always, multiple witnesses identified each man.”

He takes another deep drink, sucking on the straw until the freeze is unbearable. A car door slams outside. JD looks up as Veronica Sawyer walks through the door. She looks…. He swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. He averts his gaze to the emptying cup in front of him. She turns her back to him as she scans the display.

He pushes off the counter and slowly steps in behind her, “Want a Slurpee with that?” Her small gasp was just a little too gratifying. JD likes that he’s only the _slightest_ bit taller than her. Her eyes…

“No… but if you’re nice, I’ll let you buy me a Big Gulp.” They’re close enough to feel each other’s body heat.

“That’s like going to Mickey D’s to order a salad. Slurpee’s the signature dish of the house… Cherry or lime?” his posture loosens and a small grin tugs at the corner of his lips. Veronica watches as he lifts the cup for a sip.

“Surprise me.” He nods and steps back toward the machine, pulling two cups and filling them both. Some more cash is dropped next to the untouched money from before. They lean against the counter. “You ever gonna tell me your name?” she asks as she takes the offered cherry Slurpee.

“I’ll end the suspense.” He holds out his hand, “Jason Dean. JD for short.” If he were anyone else, he’d say his hand tingles as she clasps it for a single moment.

“So… what’s a Baudelaire quoting badass like you doing in a place like Sherwood, Ohio?”

“My dad owns a deconstruction company. You’ve probably seen the commercial: ‘My name’s Big Bud Dean and if it’s in the way, I’ll make your day.” Veronica watches as his jaw tightens and his mouth twists from a grin into an ugly sneer. She doesn’t like how he’s crossed his arms tight across his chest and wishes she hadn’t asked.

“That’s your dad?”

“In all his toxic glory.”

She looks down at her feet and worries the inside corner of her mouth with her teeth. “Everyone’s life’s got static—” before she can continue a long honk sounds from the parking lot. “For example, I don’t really like my friends.”

“I don’t really like them either.” They share a small smile and hers widens as his posture loosens. “Bag the party and hang out here.” He nudges her shoulder with his. Veronica sways just a little closer.

“At the 7Eleven? Swanky first date,” she says. Her eyes widen and a blush rises on her face as her words register to her.

He just grins wider. “Come on, I love this place.”

“No offense… but why?” she asks. JD takes in her tilted head and parted lips. She notices him staring and smiles the tiniest bit.

“I’ve been through ten high schools in four years and I doubt this will be the last. Not like there’s any point in giving a shit. My dad keeps two suitcases packed in the den; I don’t think we’ve stayed anywhere longer than six weeks since Mom died.” He shakes his head and shrugs.

“No matter where we are, Las Vegas or Boston or wherever, there’s a 7Eleven and they’re all the same. When everything feels like shit, I come inside and get a Slurpee. It makes everything kinda numb. Whenever it gets too much I just—” JD sucks strong on the straw for a second and grimaces at the freeze.

He seems to realize how that sounds and cracks a stiff smile at Veronica. “Who needs cocaine, right? Care for a hit?” he offers her his cup. Veronica feels her chest swell for a second and impulsively steps into his space. She pinches the straw between her lips and takes three deep pulls from the lime Slurpee as he watches her with a quirked eyebrow.

“I don’t see what—” the ache hits her brain, and she clutches at his jacket with her free hand as she presses her face into his arm. “Ow, ow, ow. Son of a bitch!”

Veronica hears him chuckle and looks up in time to watch him take another pull from his drink.

The moment breaks with three sharp raps against the glass storefront. “Veronica!”

She glances at her friend then back at JD. “Guess that’s my cue.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” he says. They just kinda stare at one another in silence for a second until Chandler raps her knuckles on the glass again.

“Thanks for the Slurpee.” He watches as she grabs a handful of bags and drops way too much money on the counter. She’s out the door before he registers her leaving his side. He feels a little colder. JD breathes deeply before sucking down the last of his frozen drink. The pain isn’t as good as before. 

++++

“Did you get the corn nuts?”

“Yes, Heather.”

“God! I don’t know what’s gotten into you, Veronica. It’s like you don’t even care what I’m doing for you!” Veronica leans against the car door as they pull out of the parking lot. In an attempt to drone out Heather’s shrill anger, she takes a deep drink of her melting cherry Slurpee.


	4. Big Fun

“Okay so salt, then shot, then lime. It’s very important to get the order right.” Veronica can barely hear Heather over the deep bass but follows her instructions nonetheless. Licking the bitter salt off her hand, she brings the shot glass to her lips. She breathes for a second before throwing her head back and swallowing the shot; Veronica immediately sinks her teeth into the lime ledge. It burns and warms and chokes her up a bit.

“You’re a natural!” Heather bounces forward to hug Veronica. They hop/hug for a second, bodies pressing around them as kids dance and shout. They take another shot together before they are pulled apart by the flow of the crowd. She wouldn’t be surprised if most of Westerburg’s upper class was here. And she’s sure the group hanging on the patio are freshmen. Obviously, no one bothered to tell them Ram hates freshmen.

She’s never been to one of Ram’s homecoming parties. Which is saying something, because almost everyone goes to one. They’re legendary. Her cheeks flush and giggles slip out as she stumbles around the house. Veronica talks to everyone! Bottles of Mad Dog and Strawberry Hill move through dozens of hands to be drained in minutes. She can feel the beat of the music in her bones whenever she nears the living room.

Parties never seemed this wonderful before now. She loses the Heathers in the first half-hour, but she is never lonely. She stumbles across more couples _in flagrante delicto_ than she cares to admit. (Latin. To be caught in the act; a sexual euphemism.) Several are naked in the pool, uncaring of possible voyeurs. Many more pass out in whatever room has a door that shuts. Normally, she doesn’t condone this kind of behavior but she’s riding an unbelievable high.

At one point, she’s dancing in the press of bodies. She’s sweating and giggling and swaying into anyone around her more than dancing. A guy comes up behind her and whispers in her ear, “Looking good tonight, Veronica.” He presses another shot into her hand before they clink the glasses and throw them back. He takes the glass back and gives her a half hug as they both laugh uproariously at absolutely nothing. At another point, she ends up with a joint in her hand. Veronica shrugs before trying to take a hit. She coughs and coughs and laughs at herself. She’s never felt this wonderful or warm.

Eventually—a couple of hours later—she ends up on the couch. She and another girl lean against each other talking about class. Her body slumps and her head tilts back as her eyes close. The couch is so comfortable!

“Alright, everybody listen up!” Kurt wobbles from his perch atop the coffee table. “What is Westburg gonna do to the Razorbacks at Sunday’s game?”

Ram pulls the piñata from his friend and starts thrusting. Kurt (and pretty much everyone else, Veronica included) finds this hilarious. The quarterback hops down and starts thrusting at the other end. More laughs.

Heather Duke scoffs and frowns. “That’s disgusting.”

Ram drops the pig and rushes toward Heather, grabbing her around the waist and thrusting at her hips. She kicks and yells, but everyone keeps laughing. Before Veronica can really think, she’s up and across the room. “Hey… Hey, Ram! I saw some freshmen sneaking over the pool fence.” She points towards the back door helpfully.

“I hate freshman. Where are you, you little pricks!” He drops Heather in favor of stumbling out the back door.

“I didn’t need your help!” Heather crosses her arms and flicks her the bird.

For some reason, Veronica finds this hilarious. “Thanks, Heather! But I don’t really need to vomit right now. Get it?” She busts into breathless giggles as Heather stomps off to bitch to Heather.

She’s just kinda grooving in the corner, lost in her own world when two arms squeeze her from behind. “AHH!” She spins to find Martha there, clutching a crinkled note and a bottle.

“Martha! I can’t believe you actually came…” Veronica feels her stomach fall to her knees. She swallows heavily.

“It’s exciting, right?” She bounces in place for a moment before she catches sight of Ram coming in from the back yard. “Oh, excuse me. I want to say hello to Ram. I brought sparkling cider.” Veronica smiles back even as she feels a cold sweat break across her neck and her stomach roil. This will not end well. She scans the room, her eyes darting about as she tries to find the Heathers. Maybe she could get Martha out of here before they saw her.

Too late.

“Alright, Westerburgers! Time to celebrate our upcoming victory over the Razorbacks by whacking apart their mascot!” Heather waves the bat in the air. Veronica sees the vicious grin on her flushed face even from across the room. “We need a volunteer to take the first swing,” she points the bat, waving the end back and forth as kids jostle and shout for the honor. Heather homes in and the bat stops. “Martha Dunstock… I think you should do the honors.” There’s a moment of dead silence before the hum returns.

“I don’t really- I mean-”

“Let’s show this girl some Westerburg spirit!”

They start chanting. “Martha! Martha! Martha! Martha!”

Veronica feels her skin blanch and chill as Heather McNamara steps forward with the blindfold and wraps it around Martha’s face. All Veronica can see is a noose.

Everyone giggles and snorts when Heather Duke walks in with the piñata again. It’s wearing a wig with pigtails and a pink sweater. Someone’s scrawled DUMPTRUCK on the side in thick marker. They’re gonna crush her…

Veronica feels her throat go dry as she pushes people out of the way. She pulls it out of the other girl’s hands. “What’s your damage, Heather?!” Hands dart out to yank it back and they struggle for a minute. A jittery feeling floods her chest and Veronica wrenches it back. She sprints through the shocked kids to the back door.

“Veronica!”

“You want it? Swim for it!” she grunts as she launches the pig as far as she can and bares her teeth when it splashes into the pool. Veronica muscles her way back to Martha and unties the cloth.

“Veronica? What’s-”

“Go home, Martha. I’ll explain later.” With a glance around at the gaping faces, Martha drops the bat and darts for the front door. It slams behind her. The silence is deafening. She turns to face the Heathers. They’re standing in the middle of the living room, their faces twisted into hateful glares. Duke stoops to pick up the bat.

“I’m done. It’s not worth it.” She turns to leave and suddenly Veronica realizes what’s she’s done—in front of her whole school practically—and she feels her lungs constrict and the bile rise and— Heather yanks the back of Veronica’s shirt and slams her into the wall.

“Don’t spin me. I—"

“No! You don’t get to be a _nobody_ anymore, Veronica. I told you your options. Come Monday, you’re an _ex-somebody_. Not even the fucking losers will touch you now. Transfer to Washington, transfer to Jefferson, but no one,” here she raises her head and glares at the silent onlookers, “at Westerburg is going to let you play their reindeer games. You’ve made your choice.”

Veronica flinches back at Heather’s fevered stare and bared teeth. She can feel spit hit her as the other girl hisses her death sentence. Heather pulls her back from the wall and prepares to fling her to the floor, but Veronica feels her stomach protest and the bile rise at the back of her throat. She hurls all over Heather’s shoes.

A shrill, throaty screech erupts from her throat. “I raised you up from nothing! And what’s my thanks? I get paid in _puke_?!” Veronica looks up at the bitch from her hunched over position. She almost looks funny with her face twisted up and her skin red. JD would laugh… JD wouldn’t have let Heather stomp all over him in the first place.

She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and forces herself into Heather’s space. “Lick it up, baby. Lick. It. Up.” Her chest releases for one brief moment before Heather’s eyes go dead.

“I know who I’m eating lunch with on Monday. Do you?”

Everyone she looks at averts their gaze. Several draw their arms in and curl them around their bodies as if to ward off a blow… or guilt. Others glare like the Heathers. One by one, they turn their backs.

Veronica shudders as sound tries to crawl out her throat. She turns and runs.


	5. Dead Girl Walking

She would kill for a drink right now. Something to wash the taste of vomit from her mouth. Even better if it would make the world numb and disappear. That demon bitch was gonna make her life a living hell. And there was nothing she could do about it. Veronica stumbles and giggles hysterically… god, class was going to _suck_ Monday. Hell, for all she knows, the Heathers might just hunt her down and mount her head on the wall. She can practically picture it: blood dripping down the side as it's affixed to the polished wooden base and given a place of prominence next to the nonexistent football trophies. Veronica’s jaw sets in determination. She doesn’t have to just _let_ it happen! She could… go to Seattle or something.

She starts giggling, then chuckling, then gasping as tears streak down her cheeks. She’s _fucked_.

Veronica stumbles to the curb and half falls into someone’s bush. There’s nothing left in her stomach but acid; that doesn’t stop her from heaving over and over. She wipes her mouth again and collapses onto the patch of grass next to the bush. Veronica looks at her watch. Two A.M. on Saturday… that gave her 30 hours to get her affairs in order. What do you do when you know something bad is coming?

She rests her elbows on her knees and rubs her temples. It’s gonna take forever to walk home. Veronica looks up and sees a sign…. And that sign says: “Big Bud Dean Deconstruction! If it’s in the way, I’ll make your day!” A smiling man beams with an explosion in the background… Yellow teeth and greasy hair slicked into a comb-over completes the sleazy salesman vibe. How could someone like JD come from …. _That_? She stares at the sign blankly for several moments, trying to steady herself enough get up and start walking again. All she can focus on is that fucking sign. It’s like she should be realizing something… Her eyes wander away from the sign to a lit window. There are no curtains. Directly across from the window, Veronica sees a familiar brown coat.

Before she can even really consider what she’s doing, Veronica is on her feet and running across the yard and past that creepy, sleazy sign to the leafless tree. It takes about four tries for her to get up onto the lowest branch, but she makes it. Thank god the branches are wide and stable, and she can stay close to the trunk because _that_ is JD’s room and she really needs to talk to him right now.

Veronica gets to the window and just… sits there for a minute. She really wants to talk to him because if anyone would know what to about the Heathers it would be him, but now that she’s sitting here Veronica can’t help but notice how beautiful he is. Her eyes trace his sprawling form, a small book slumped against his chest. His mouth parts just slightly, and he sighs and rolls onto his side. Veronica feels her face flush a bit and her chest constrict in an odd way. He’s not just beautiful. He’s… 

She immediately puts her palms against the glass and pushes up. The pane slides up without a problem, which is more than can be said for her entrance into the room. She swings her leg over the ledge into the room but has to hop a bit to get across. 

“Veronica? What the hell?” she looks up to see JD sitting up in bed with wide eyes.

“I just really needed to see you,” she says. 

“How’d you even find my address?” He’s getting up now and crossing to her. His brow is furrowed, and he runs his gaze across her briefly, taking in her rumpled state and the tear tracks on her face. “Are you okay?”

“I saw the sign out front,” his jaw clenches, and she keeps going, “I puked on Heather Chandler tonight. And I’ve decided there’s something I need to do before she crucifies me

Monday.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s that?” They’re so close now she can feel her hair stand on end. She stares at his eyes for a second. Veronica’s never been this close to a person before… She can see the way his eyes dilate in the light and the stroma of his eyes ( _noun. The pigmented lacework of fibers that give eyes their color_ ).

“Ride you til I break you.” There’s a stark pause before a laugh of disbelief bubbles up from his chest. Veronica just keeps tracing his face with her eyes… the contour of his jaw and the curve of his lip. He leans in closer, and she sighs expectantly.

“How much have you had to drink?” 

“Not that much.” She tries to force the slight pout out of her voice.

He sighs deep from his chest. Running a hand over his face, JD gently steers her to his bed. “Don’t move.” He shoves a stack of boxes out of the way and reaches into a space behind his dresser. JD pulls out a bottle of water.

He twists off the cap and tells her to drink. She swishes the taste out of her mouth and downs most of it. They’re both perched on the edge of the bed, and she doesn’t give him a chance to say anything before she just lunges at him. The shots still have a hold of her, but Veronica manages to straddle his lap without any major incident. She trails clumsy kiss up his neck and Veronica can feel her body tremble and heat as he does the same.

“Veronica--”

“It’s you.” They stop for a minute and she tries to make her jumbled thoughts work. “ _You’re_ beautiful, JD. You’re so strong and smart and, and you have a _soul_! You aren’t numb, not like you think. You’re _alive_ and the world sucks and this,” she kisses his lips quickly, “is _beautiful_. Can’t we have that?”

JD’s body tenses briefly and she watches as he swallows and blinks hard. She barely hears him whisper “works for me” before he surges forward to meet her.

++++

He’s sleeping so peacefully. It’s warm and comfortable and close. Until she screams.

“Veronica! Veronica! Wake up!” JD shakes her shoulder and brushes hair out of her face. “God, you’re soaking wet.”

She frantically eyes the room like she expects someone else to be there with them. Once she’s sure that it’s just the two of them, she breathes deeply with her hand over her chest. It draws JD’s eye to the line of her throat. There’s a faint hickey just below the edge of her collar bone.

She smiles up at him for just a moment before the edge of his alarm clock catches her eye. She startles at the time and rises quickly to dress.

JD leans against the headboard for a second, disappointed to see the hickey disappear beneath her shirt. He scoots to the edge of the bed and pulls her within the ring of his arms. JD gazes up at her, running his hands slowly up and down her back. “What’s the rush? We have all day.” 

She smiles and runs her fingers through his hair; she tugs a bit when his fingers tease at the edge of the shirt. “I’ve got to get to Heather’s house.”

“What?” He leans further back to get a good look at her face. “I thought you were done with that bitch.” 

He watches her shoulders droop. She shrugs halfheartedly before pasting a stiff smile on her face. “Wouldn’t that be sweet? A world without Heathers. But it’s not and it’s morning. I have to go kiss her aerobicized ass.” 

JD gives her a look. “No, Veronica, you don’t.”

Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. Veronica leans down and kisses him quickly. “I wish I was as strong as you are.” They stay like that for a minute, but she eventually sighs and straightens. “I still have to go.”

JD stands with her and begins rifling through boxes for clean clothes. “I’m coming with you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. For back up.”

They smile at each other for a lingering moment, basking in the quiet moment before they have to leave. JD and Veronica meet in the middle of his room and kiss deeply until they _must_ take a breath. She smiles and runs her hand up his arm to his shoulder then his neck. “By the way? You were my first.” He stands there stunned for a second before his lips quirk a bit and his eyes soften. “Ditto.”

++++

JD notes that Veronica doesn’t even bother to knock. She kicks over a couple of small stones in the front flower bed until she finds a house key and lets herself in.

“Heather!”

“She even here?”

“Trust me. She’s here. Heather!” JD looks around as Veronica casually walks further into the home. How do you become so comfortable in someone else’s home so quickly? How often did she hang out here?

“What?!” They both winced at Heather’s shrill shout.

Veronica takes a deep breath and pastes on a smile. “It’s Veronica. I’m here to apologize.” Her teeth grit.

“Hope you brought kneepads, bitch! Fix me a prairie oyster, and I’ll think about it.” He watches as her head falls back and she blows out a deep breath before she nods and heads to the kitchen.

“Prairie Oyster… What’s even in that?”

“Raw egg, vinegar, hot sauce, Worcestershire sauce, salt, and pepper.” She glances at him from as he hands her a glass and opens the fridge for the egg.

“You sure know your hangover cures.” 

“My dad trained me well.” JD tapped his fingers on the edge of the laminate countertop. Veronica nods then nudges him until his muscles loosen and he cracks a small grin. She cracks the egg into a mug, the slime dragging down the side of the ceramic. More stomach-turning ingredients join it. They stare at the disgusting mix for a second.

“I know what I’ll do! Hock a flemglobber in it. Not like she’ll notice.” She starts hacking and coughing. JD just laughs under his breath. Bluestocking’s living on the edge.

A bottle catches his eye. “I’m more of a “No rust build-up!” man myself.” He shakes the bottle of cleaner at her teasingly.

She stops hacking long enough to roll her eyes. “Don’t be a dick. That stuff would kill her.”

“Thus, ending her hangover!” He plucks another mug from the open cabinet and splashes a decent amount inside it. JD even goes as far as to add a couple of splashes of hot sauce and Worcestershire to the mix. In the meantime, she manages to hock up the flemglobber. Veronica hums to herself as swirls the spit into the drink.

JD holds the alternate mug out to her, his eyebrows waggling slightly as if to say ‘ta-da!’

“She’d never drink anything that looks like that!” Her nose crinkles adorably at the odd mixture.

He looks down at it, frowning thoughtfully. “It’s in a mug. She’d never even see it.”

“Forget it.” He looks at her with wide eyes. He tilts his head to the side for a second. Did she really think… no way?

He leans against the counter and waggles his eyebrows at her. “Chicken.” She frowns at the drawn-out word.

“You’re not funny.” JD hears her tone deepen and watches her nails dig into her blazer as she crosses her arms. He’s crossed a line.

“Hey,” he reaches out and rubs her arm, “bad joke. I’m sorry, Veronica.” JD gently pulls her into his arms and slowly kisses her. She’s leaning into him and running the edge of fingers under the edge of his shirt when-- “Prairie Oyster! Chop, chop!” both groan deep in their throats.

“I better get up there,” she pecks him on the lips, then grabs a mug and shouts “Coming

Heather!” She turns and waves at him.

“Don’t keep me waiting.” She winks and nods before she turns up the stairs.

Once she’s out of sight, he laughs breathlessly and smiles wide. God, Bluestocking… He looks over and notices the bright yellow of raw egg. The color drains from his face when he realizes that Heather’s Prairie Oyster is sitting next to him on the counter. He grabs the mug and starts up the stairs two at a time.

He nears Heather’s door (and it so obviously hers considering the large glittery ‘H’) and hears Veronica, “I think we both said a lot of things we didn’t mean last night--”

“Actually, I would prefer you did this on your knees.” Through the gap in the door, JD sees Veronica start to apologize again when Heather smiles toothily. “Do I look like I’m kidding?” Her laugh chills his bones. “Down.” His stomach rolls when Veronica slowly drops and holds the cup out on her hands.

“That’s better.” Heather snatches the mug from the upturned hands and swirls it around with a thoughtful look on her face before she laughs sharply. “You’re still dead to me.” 

Before he can push open the door and stop her (and does he really want to?) Heather throws back the drain cleaner mix. JD pushes it open with the mug in hand as Heather starts coughing and gagging. He keeps Veronica from falling back as Heather pushes into her and watches as she can’t suck in enough air.

“You’re nuts!” flecks of spit and bright blue cleaner hit them both.

Heather Chandler hits the floor and stops breathing.


End file.
